As it happened, real life and my own idle thoughts met the other day when Beth, Sarah, and I were discussing the iPhone. Sarah happened to mention how distracting a portable, always-on internet connection could potentially be. This, in fact, is the reason I’ve chosen to avoid getting an iPhone-like device for as long as I can. Most of my day is spent in front of a computer by necessity, and constant access to Google and Wikipedia would mean that I could conceivably spend upwards of 90% of my waking life on the internet. Could and would–I know my own tendency towards informational gluttony. The internet has made more information available to more people than anything in history save the printing press, and I doubt the printing press will maintain its lead for another century, and perhaps not even another fifty years. In the grand scheme of things, of course, the printing press will retain its status as the most influential piece of technology for the indefinite future; the internet will have to be around for a while to change as much about human existence as the printing press has.
At any rate, I know that for me extended internet use is like Paul’s food sacrificed to an idol: neither bad nor good in itself, but bad for me at my current level of maturity. The internet is an unmatched distraction engine, a sort of intellectual ground cover that is lovely in its place but a nuisance when it exceeds it. On the internet, there is nobody to tell you “No;” you can go to any website, affect any persona you can make believable, and learn anything knowable to humans–if you are willing to put enough work into it. You can find someone who has something in common with you, no matter how odd or obscure the point of commonality. These are not bad things, and they are not good things. They are merely things you can do for as long as you want, and absent the contraints of offline life you must decide for yourself how long is long enough.
Enid Blyton’s Magical Faraway Tree series contains a place called the Land of Do-As-You-Please. Not having read the series, I don’t know how the children manage in the Land of Do-As-You-Please, but I know that, left to my own devices, I can’t do-as-I-please for very long without running completely off the rails. Pleasures, as C.S. Lewis observed, are a tricky thing; pleasures have a temporal component to them that is vital for their full enjoyment. Simply put, pleasures fade, and it is right for them to do so just as seeds die to become plants. Much of his Perelandra is dedicated to the exploration of this idea, and of how hard it is to fallen humans to understand that keeping the sensation of pleasure alive with more and more frantic repetition is not only ineffective but perverse.
Since this is all very abstract, let me give an example from my own life: blogging. It’s fun to read blogs and to write them, and for me receiving a comment on one of my blog entries is a singular joy. The temptation for me is to check my RSS reader repeatedly throughout the day to see if anyone has updated or posted a comment. This is something that can be done profitably maybe twice a day, and more likely only once. I know that I don’t think of it in these terms when I am waiting at the reference desk and somewhat bored; no, I know that I’m likely to do it every ten minutes if I don’t find something better to do. This isn’t news to most people, I’m sure, and I think you could argue that Facebook’s redesign is so annoying is that it forces you to think like this whether you want to or not.
The bottom line, I guess, is that the internet isn’t necessarily optimized for you any more than real life is.